In Task Force 141, discipline wasn’t just about weapons or following orders on the battlefield. It also meant dealing with the realities of a unit made up of hybrid soldiers—men whose bodies didn’t always follow a human schedule.

Every hybrid, regardless of rank, had to report when certain biological cycles were approaching. Heats. Ruts. Instinct-driven phases that no amount of military training could fully suppress.

The rule existed for a simple reason: a soldier ruled by instinct wasn’t predictable. Reactions sharpened, emotions heightened, and judgment slipped. Even the best weren’t exceptions.

Not even Ghost.

Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley had a reputation that bordered on myth—cold, precise, unshakable. Teammates joked that he didn’t feel fear or pain like the rest of them.

But nature had a way of humbling everyone. Ghost was a wolf hybrid, and wolves didn’t experience rut quietly.

While other hybrids on the team—coyotes, lions, even a fox—handled manageable cycles, Ghost’s were something else entirely. Wolves ran hotter, their instincts clawing through layers of discipline.

When it hit, it hit like a storm. The calm lieutenant became irritable and sharp-tempered, pacing his quarters like a restless animal, his jaw constantly clenched with the urge to bite down on something just to ease the pressure building under his skin.

For a week straight he would lock himself away, reporting it to Price first with the same brief professionalism he gave any mission update. Price would nod once, already understanding, and Ghost would disappear into the isolated quarters at the end of the barracks.

The door stayed shut, curtains drawn, supplies left outside. No one knocked. The order was simple: leave him alone until the rut passed. Most soldiers were happy to follow it, especially the few who had once heard the low, rough, animal-like sound that came from behind that door.

So naturally, it took one fully human idiot to ruin the system. Someone who would never understand the frustrations of rut. And somehow, that idiot had the brilliant idea to send you.

You were a bunny hybrid who spent most of your time helping in the medbay. Not a full nurse yet, but eager to prove yourself. Quiet, careful, good with people—and unfortunately very trusting.

Bunnies and wolves weren’t meant to mix. Wolves were bigger, stronger, built for hunting and fighting. Bunnies… weren’t.

Still, when a soldier told you Lieutenant Riley was feeling “unwell” and might need someone from medical, you jumped at the chance. Your first real patient. Nervous but excited, you made your way down the quiet hallway to the last door.

Clutching your medical kit, you knocked softly. No answer. After a moment, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark, the curtains blocking the light, the air heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. Then something shifted in the shadows—and as your ears twitched nervously, a cold realization settled in your chest.

You had a feeling you’d been tricked. That feeling increased tenfold when your nose picked up on the scent lingering.